Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Life Is A Highway. I Want To Ride It All Night Long. (That's Also A Song I Heard.)

Life is what you make it. That's why today I've decided that I'm an intergalactic rock star. I have tentacles for arms and planets for eyes, and I perform a single concert consisting entirely of Kiss covers for the entire universe once every fifty million years. Sure, you may not have heard of me, but that's only because you live on Earth, and Earth is the biggest and most out-of-it loser planet in existence.

Speaking of life, I've made some mistakes during mine, but I've also made some awesomely sagacious decisions. One of these was getting this badass photo-realistic tattoo backpiece:

Though it probably wasn't such a good idea to sell all my Apple stock about five years ago and invest everything I had in Cannondale:

But at least I never moved into a Brooklyn hipster death trap like this place:

Remember when everybody in New York was cashing in on the fixie craze by doing the Loctite conversion on old crappy ten speeds and then selling the resulting death traps on Craigslist? Well, lofts are the fixies of real estate, and landlords do pretty much the same thing with buildings:

That September, an inspector determined that workers had plastered over fire sprinkler heads and ordered the building vacated. Residents came home from work to find the building padlocked; they lost their security deposits.Yet after only a few months, construction restarted. This summer, the building began filling once again, advertised on Craigslist under varying names, like “the Sweater Factory Lofts” or “the Rustic House,” for $2,800 to $3,800 a month.

Sure, it's completely unfit for residential use, but that's what makes it so "exciting:"

Then there is Mr. Fiegel, who has reluctantly stayed because his roommates find the area exciting and the relatively low rent — $3,500 for four — almost as appealing.“They are just amazed, because we have the loft space,” he said. “They love it here.”

Speaking of the fixie craze, evidently it's still happening in certain parts of the world, as evidenced by this video that I learned about first from Klaus of Cycling Inquisition:

Yes, "tarck" is "barck:"

Or maybe it never went anywhere in the first place. Either way, as with that music video from last month, I continue to be amazed that a city as cosmopolitan as London could be so embarrassingly behind the times as far as cycling fashion is concerned. I mean look at them, skidding all over the place like a bunch of MASHy Macaputzes:

I did learn one thing from this guy though:

(You mean your LBS doesn't have a creative director?)

Which is this:"East London seems to have been a bit of, uh, like, the birthplace of fixed gear and single speed bikes, if you like."

Wow. That's like saying Brooklyn is the birthplace of Charles Dickens. Then again, I suppose one appealing aspect of the fixed gear scene is that the history is as easily customizable as the bikes themselves. I also suppose his obvious talent for fiction is why he's the creative director.

Another thing I liked about the video is that they found the one bike lane in all of London:

If my own experience riding in London is any guide then that bike lane extends for a grand total of seven feet before it leads cyclists straight into a strategically-placed "keep left" sign.

Wait, so what year is this again?

Well, I see a top tube pad (!) and bars set up to take core samples of the rider's quads, so it must be 2005.

Anyway, back to the story of the clothes, which is the real point of the video:

"They brought the revised samples over to London and we all got to try them on and actually ride them then."
Here's who I'm going to assume is the corporate suit (or "sweater") from H&M, because making assumptions is easier and more entertaining than real life:

("The Man" waiting eagerly for feedback.)

Here are the pants:

("The Pants" waiting eagerly for scranus.)

And here's a member of the hand-picked fixie focus group explaining exactly what he wants out of a cycling garment:

("There needs to be adequate crotchal room for testicular pendulation when I'm laying down a fat elephant trunk skid like they did circa 2007.")

And here's another member putting in his two cents, or pence, or whatever they opine with over there:

("The jacket closure should use buttons instead of a zipper to prevent beard entanglement.")

Most importantly, the clothes are "sustainable:"

"Already from the start when doing this collection we also thought it was really really important to make it as sustainable as possible."

That's why there's absolutely no sperm whale vulva used anywhere in this collection--with the exception of the crotch of the pants, since nothing stands up to saddle wear better than whale vulva. Still, it's far more sustainable than Rapha, who use whale vulva in everything they make, and whose shoes are made of late-term panda abortions:

Anyway, these clothes are all about functionality, and I particularly liked this detail:

It's called the "rubbish pocket:"

Basically, the idea is that pedestrians can discard their refuse in it while you're trackstanding in the middle of the crosswalk. (That's where the "sustainability" comes in.) However, pedestrians should only put regular refuse in the rubbish pocket. Recyclables should instead be stuffed down the rider's pants.

Yes, clearly mainstream retailers are beginning to cater to young bike-riding urbanites, but oddly they only seem interested in making these clothes for men. (Or at least emotionally stunted man-boys.) Women, on the other hand, are ignored, which is why they must turn to Kickstarter:

Says the designer:

"I've been riding my bike around Seattle for the last five years. For me, it's the most amazing way to experience the city."
At first I was offended at the implication that Seattle can be experienced amazingly, but then I remembered that in rainy Seattle "amazing" is just a euphemism for "wet," because Seattleites have no concept of "amazing." ("What an amazing day." "That ride was totally amazing." "The seat of my pants is totally amazing now." And so forth.)

Meanwhile, in the world of attempting to ride bikes fastly, a reader has sent me the following email:

crabon crash porn from the sandpit at NC cyclocross state championships 12-1-2012

We may have lost the war, but we still like to play in the sand. Yankees go home-

Jack

Hey, I don't see any broken crabon, and it's not crabon crash porn unless the crabon breaks. At best, this is like one of those Cinemax After Dark movies. Plus, you don't have to tell me to go home, since I'm always careful to avoid the South because I don't want to get run over by a monster truck. (Why you need a passport to visit another state like Canada yet you can travel freely between the US and a foreign country like the South is beyond me.) Of course, Miami doesn't count because it's part of New York, and speaking of Miami some famous basketball players recently participated in Critical Mass:

I don't follow basketball so I tuned out everything until 1:13, at which point he said, "Critical mass, I love it."

Ok, so I'm a girl, and I ride a bike, and I wear skirts and heels, and so I get the need for great clothes you can wear on your bike. But nothing on earth could convince me to wear that grey shirt. Ever. Because I do not like the burlap sack look.

And I do not like zipping miles of extra fabric into my skirt, either. Just wear your pencil skirt to work, already, and let it hike up a bit. It's still longer than short-shorts, and at least you're not packing a tent around in your skirt all day long.

On second thought, Cannondale stock and tarck bikes? This blog has travelled back almost exactly five years (to the week, not the day, because it's obviously not Tuesday anymore) to December 2007. Dude(r).

Out here in the not at all amazing southwest, the fixie fad is fixin' to explode.

Just a few months ago, I didn't know a fixie from a single speed, and there aren't that many single speeds with which to begin (insert punchline here). Most everyone here has at least a mountain bike, because we have real mountains and miles of single track in town.

Anyway, after reading your first book I learned to recognize a fixie first by it's rider, and then by the bike's running gear.

I now know that those gay dudes on fixies are actually hipsters, not counting a few middle-aged lone wolves.

Thanks for enlightening us rubes and rednecks. We wouldn't know what to do without New Yorkers to lead the way.

to the builder's credit, navigating the NYC permitting process is an exercise in kafka-esque bureaucracy - but, IMO, that's no excuse for shoddy work - especially when there are germans involved.

btw, snobby, if you want to legally change the lightbulbs in your new digs, you're going to have to hire a lighting professional and expediter so you have all the necessary documentation before you submit the ED16A, EN1,EN2, PC1, and PW1. this costs about $200,000 and the approval process takes roughly 7 years. unfortunately by that time all the lights in your place will have burnt out - so I'd encourage you to file the paperwork that allows you to use a flashlight or candle before ASAP (don't know the form code off-hand). keep in mind after you file this first round of paperwork, you trigger year-long inspection process that may or may not require dental records and a "rectal probe" (the latter of which is oddly performed by the anti-graffiti task force).

...speaking of great literary references, as i recall, leroy once posted a short video of his dog reading the dr suess classic, "the hat in the hat" at one of his 'dogs playing poker nights' with his bowser pals...

Oh, the English. Born with the certainty of social hierarchy and their place in it. Either surly because of their envy of superiors or grovelling to their masters.

They're an unhygienic lot as well. Hide your money from them under the soap. I once shared a Fulham flat with one who chewed his toenails.

They love their tribal costumes. Just look at the soft, white boys with beards and fixed gears.

The other idiocy of the English is their love of banks. They have 'bank holidays' and anyone who does the bookkeeping is a banker. Merchant bankers are all cunts. What the fuck do they do except drive banks into insolvency and then squeal to HM government for bail out cash. Yes, I know it sounds like fucking A-merican banks, but the English are far worse. The bankers and the ruling party have nothing that differentiates them; Labour or Cuntservative. 'Male' Social Democrats have no dicks and the women are cretins. So, a couple of generations of tax payers will be subsidising the stupidity of bankers.

Of course the Irish are even worse. They believed the English bullshit and spun themselves back into their traditional poverty. I think they'er happiest there anyway.

The man sez I was too hard on our intrepid kickstarter, Iva Jean and that I should not think of it as fashion, but as a means of inspiring women to get out on their bikes. Fair enough. Frilly, it's true, the concept is brill. Perhaps it's possible to tuck a wee tent in there like that without it somehow looking like a duvet. Anything is possible, right?

One thing is certain. I would dearly love to see more women out on bikes, for sure for sure for sure, daring to wear whatever they want, tacky or not.

The more I learn of Dolly Parton, the more I respect her. She is perhaps the most augmented, adorned and artificial icon of our times, and yet she is absolutely gorgeous, an entirely genuine human beauty, with a heart as big as Texas. She's my favourite paradox.

She said, during a recent interview with Jian Ghomeshi, that her signature "look" is based on her childhood impression of the town tramp.

Bless you, Dolly, for showing me how to love and honour my inner tramp. And thank you for your endcouragement and support, ye friends of the commenteratti.

...while it's pretty obvious that i'm a fan, babble & i do tend to stand up in defense of those whose 'work' i enjoy, were i, you, i'd not give anon 6:34 (excusable english or not) quite the 'acceptable response' leeway you did...

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About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!